Vampire Sheikh
Page 1
He could make any bargain he wished, because he held all the power.
She believed he possessed what she wanted, and she had no idea that it was, indeed, she who had what he so desperately needed.
He made the logical decision.
“Are you willing to submit yourself to me? To become the vessel of my sacrifice?” Seth asked.
The color drained from her face. Her eyes grew wide as saucers. “Wait. Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?”
Seth’s lips curved in a humorless smile, showing her the tips of his long, lethal fangs.
“My dear, I am vampire. And my need? It can be slaked only with your blood.”
Books by Nina Bruhns
Harlequin Nocturne
*Night Mischief #25
**Lord of the Desert #93
**Shadow of the Sheikh #100
**Vampire Sheikh #105
NINA BRUHNS
credits her Gypsy great-grandfather for her love of adventure. She has lived and traveled all over the world, including a six-year stint in Sweden. She has two graduate degrees in archaeology (with a specialty in Egyptology) and has been on scientific expeditions from California to Spain to Egypt and the Sudan. She speaks four languages and writes a mean hieroglyphics!
But Nina’s first love has always been writing. For her, writing for Harlequin Books is the ultimate adventure! Her many experiences give her stories a colorful dimension and allow her to create settings and characters that are out of the ordinary. She has garnered numerous awards for her novels, including a prestigious National Readers’ Choice Award, three Daphne du Maurier Awards of Excellence for Overall Best Mystery-Suspense of the year, five Dorothy Parker Awards and two RITA® Award nominations, among many others.
A native of Canada, Nina grew up in California and currently resides in Charleston, South Carolina.
She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 2216, Summerville, SC 29484-2216, or by email via her website at www.NinaBruhns.com or via Harlequin Books, www.eHarlequin.com.
VAMPIRE SHEIKH
NINA BRUHNS
Dear Reader,
And so we come to book three of the Immortal Sheikhs trilogy. What an incredible journey it has been! This has hands down been one of my very favorite series. Being able to reimmerse myself in my love for all things ancient Egyptian has been an absolute treat!
Have I saved the best for last? Perhaps…
The hero of Vampire Sheikh, demigod Seth-Aziz, has truly captured my imagination. From the beginning, he reminded me of a twelfth dynasty poem that is a classic among Egyptologists and philosophers alike: “The Discourse of a Man with His Ba,” also known as “The Man Who Was Weary of Life.” Imagine my surprise when Seth actually started quoting passages from the poem. Surely, I had found the composer of this amazing piece from so long ago.
Cast in the mold of the brooding philosopher-king that we romance readers love so well, Seth-Aziz has sacrificed his personal happiness for the sake of his people. But like all people, modern and ancient, what he really yearns for is love. The love of a woman who truly understands him. The love of someone who can share his burden of leadership.
I hope you have loved immersing yourself in the mysterious, exotic world of Egyptian gods and shape-shifters as much as I did. And if you’d like to read the full text of Seth’s poem, please check out the Vampire Sheikh page on my website, www.NinaBruhns.com.
Good reading!
Nina
For all the anonymous poets and philosophers of the past and the future, whose amazing words and universal truths will continue to inspire us all through the ages.
Stanzas from an Egyptian XII Dynasty Poem
The Man Who Was Tired of Life:
The Discourse of a Man with His Soul
O my Ba, so foolish to belittle the sorrows of life.
Lead me toward death… For my suffering is pressing,
A burden too heavy to be borne.
O sweet relief, if the gods would but scatter
The secrets of my body.
Lo, my name is reviled,
More than the smell of carrion
On a summer's day when the sun burns hot.
Lo, my name is reviled,
More than that of a woman
About whom lies are told to her husband.
Lo, my name is reviled,
More than the town of a monarch
Which utters sedition behind his back.
To whom shall I speak today?
Gentleness has perished
And violence rules the day.
To whom shall I speak today?
Men are contented with evil
And goodness is neglected.
To whom shall I speak today?
The past is forgotten,
And the need of yesterday's hero ignored.
To whom shall I speak today?
My heart is burdened
For lack of a soul companion.
Death is within my sight today
Like the scent of myrrh,
Like shelter on a windy day.
Death is within my sight today
Like a childhood path,
When a man returns home from war…
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Present day
Winter Palace Hotel
Luxor, Egypt
There was someone in her hotel room.
Josslyn Haliday bolted upright in bed, listening intently in the midnight darkness. She heard nothing. But she felt a presence—a thick, almost physical energy creeping over her bare skin. Dark. Ominous. Threatening.
“Who’s there?” she called into the black void of the room.
No reply.
Unbidden, her sister Gemma’s last warning echoed through her mind….
Beware the vampire.
Despite the heat of the Egyptian desert pressing in through the open balcony door, a chill of goosebumps spilled down Joss’s arms.
Slowly, she eased her hand toward the shotgun she’d hidden under the hotel’s luxurious bed linens. Her fingers clasped the familiar wooden stock and eased it upward.
“Show yourself or you’ll live to regret it,” she called out in Arabic, and she snapped the gun up, sweeping it in a half-circle, seeking the unseen intruder.
Joss did not believe in vampires.
Or shape-shifters or mummies or any of the other fantastical creatures of the myths and legends her ethnographer sister Gemma seemed to take at face value when listening to the stories of the local villagers. Josslyn was an archaeologist, a scientist, and she needed to see hard evidence to instill belief.
This prowler was a common thief, nothing more. Josslyn’s few possessions and those of her two sisters which she had managed to grab on her way out the door of the villa after reading Gemma’s dire warning note were all stashed in this room. Their money. Their research. Their passports. Someone was obviously hoping to steal those.
Clearly, it had been a mistake leaving the balcony door wide open. But when she’d gone to bed earlier, the
hotel had been in the midst of one of the ubiquitous Egyptian electrical brownouts, and she would have melted into a puddle of sweat if she’d left it closed and locked.
No problem. She’d deal with this thief. She racked the gun. The loud ka-chunk ricocheted comfortingly off the plaster walls, bolstering her courage.
Just outside the French door there was an almost imperceptible scratching noise. Then suddenly a tiny flame flashed red. The silhouette of a large hand cupped it, and the tip of a black Egyptian cigarette flared to life. The rich, acrid smell of tobacco wafted to her nose in the hot stillness.
“What are you planning to do, shoot me?” a deep masculine voice asked. His English was cultured, his tone unsettlingly unperturbed by her threat.
She narrowed her eyes. Not exactly what she’d expected. “Stay on my balcony one minute longer and you’ll find out,” she returned.
A thin drift of smoke was caught in a golden luminescence, reflected by some unseen light below.
“This is, in fact, my balcony as well,” the man said silkily. “I believe we share it.”
She frowned and searched her memory of the verandah’s setup.
Damn. He was right.
Still… “That hardly gives you license to intrude on my privacy.”
“I do beg your pardon. That wasn’t my intent. I couldn’t sleep and found myself wandering.”
Another puff of smoke oozed into the room. Normally she hated the smell of cigarettes, but there was something almost…alluring about the spicy fragrance of his blend. A shiver raced over her arms. Along with the heavier brush of an indefinable sense of unease. The air was electric with it, like a touch of foreboding.
She didn’t believe his assertion of innocence. His presence on her balcony had a purpose, and she’d bet her last dollar it wasn’t insomnia. She was also beginning to fear it wasn’t to steal passports, either.
“Get away from my room,” she ordered. “Or I will shoot you.”
He chuckled softly and took a half step closer to the open door. Her pulse leapt. A roll of weird energy, like the electric crackle of an approaching storm, raised the fine hairs on her arms. He halted at her threshold, framed by the French doors. She could just make out his body silhouetted against the backdrop of the night sky. He was big and broad.
She really wished she could see his face.
“Your sister sends her greetings,” he said conversationally. Joss faltered. What? The gun wavered in her hands. “Gemma?” Scrambling up to her knees on the bed, she raised the gun again. “Where is she?” she demanded harshly. “What have you done with her?”
At least she assumed he’d meant Gemma. Both her sisters, Gemma and Gillian, had disappeared over the past two weeks. Gillian with a man claiming to be a British lord, an expatriate living on an unlikely estate somewhere on the west bank of the Nile River. Gillian had sent a note saying she was with him, and not to worry, but Joss and Gemma became skeptical when she didn’t come home after a week. Then a few days ago Gemma had been following a clue to Gillian's whereabouts, and was abducted by a mysterious band of fierce desert warriors and their sheikh leader. Gemma had also been able to smuggle a note to Josslyn, parts of which were burned in her memory.
Pack a suitcase…quit the villa…. Those men from yesterday are coming back to kidnap you…. Go! Now!…
Beware the vampire! Do not trust him….
Of course, that last part was crazy. If Joss weren’t so desperately worried, she’d think Gemma had gone totally off the deep end. Could she have been drugged? Possibly by the very man on Joss’s balcony? He didn’t look like a desert warrior…but he did look fierce.
The shadowed figure at the French door took another drag on his cigarette, dropped it and ground it out under his shoe. “Actually,” he said, “it is of your other sister I bring word.”
“Gillian? But—” Joss finally unfroze and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. She needed to see this guy.
The light snapped on, dimly illuminating the features of the man. He really was big. Tall. His handsome features were Middle Eastern, but he was dressed as a Westerner, in an elegant white linen suit with stylish European leather shoes. Not menacing, exactly. But arrogant and… Okay. Yes. Menacing. An unpleasant shiver crawled down her spine.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Are you Gillian’s new—” Lord, how to put it? And please, God, no “—gentleman?”
His lips curved. “Lord Rhys? No, I’m not. My name is Harold Ray and I’m…an acquaintance of his. Please, call me Ray.”
Lord Rhys? Obviously Gillian’s expat boyfriend. But the name rang a bell somewhere else in her mind. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it. “What do you want?” she asked Ray. “Tell me what Gillian said.”
Harold Ray tilted his head. “Wouldn’t you like to put down that gun first?”
Was he kidding? “No. Talk to me. Now.”
He tsked. “I must say, your sister has much better manners.” He took another step forward, this one bringing him across her threshold.
“Hey! Stop where you are!”
The absurd thought came to her that at least the intruder couldn’t possibly be a vampire. Didn’t they need an invitation to enter one’s abode? And she could clearly see his reflection in the glass of the French door.
Good freaking grief. Not that she believed any of that bullcrap.
It was a testament to her completely frazzled nerves over her missing sisters that the thought had even entered her desperate mind.
Ray gave her a little knowing smile and brazenly wandered into the room, casting a casual glance around. The storm brewing in the air stirred ominously. He extended a finger and touched the head of a bronze statue of Sekhmet that decorated a reading table. It seemed to light up.
Along with her nerves. Jesus. Was he really going to make her shoot him?
“Gillian is fine,” he said, temporarily delaying her itchy trigger finger. “And very much in love with Rhys Kilpatrick.”
The name finally hit her like an icy dash of hard evidence. Now she knew this guy was lying. Lord Rhys Kilpatrick was a dead man. Long dead. A British officer in General Gordon’s infamous 19th Hussars, he’d been killed in 1885. It was his grave marker her historian sister had been searching for when she went missing.
“I don’t doubt Gillian is in love,” Joss drawled. But not with anyone in this jerk’s acquaintance. Time to get rid of this Harold Ray character, whoever he was. He was giving her the creeps, big time. His body actually seemed to be getting bigger, shimmering in the golden glow of the nightstand lamp.
She slid gingerly off the bed, keeping the gun carefully trained on him. And did her best to ignore the way his lascivious gaze slid over her body, which she realized must be all too visible in the lamplight through the opaque fabric of her thin summer pajamas.
“Get out,” she told him firmly. “Get out now, or I swear I will pull this trigger.”
His gaze strayed to the gun, slid up her arm and paused on her neck, then went to her eyes. “You are a brave thing, I’ll give you that, Miss Haliday. I can see why Seth wants you.”
Seth? Who…? He must be talking about Gemma’s kidnapper. And the lying bastard in her room was obviously in league with him. Oh, my God. They must be holding both Gemma and Gillian captive!
“You and your buddy Seth can go straight to hell,” she ground out, fighting a wave of nausea at the thought. “I’ll get my sisters back if it’s the last thing—”
She didn’t see him move. One second he was across the room, the next he was standing in front of her, his hand reaching for her gun. Her pulse surged. Not a chance!
She pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. A harmless click echoed through the room.
Oh, shit. Shitshitshit.
“Believe me, Seth is not my buddy,” Ray returned as though he hadn’t even noticed he’d just been meant to die. He smiled down at her. Now he looked really menacing. Downright sinister. The air crackled with that weird, otherw
orldly energy. It sparked off him like static electricity. She swore she saw actual sparks. He loomed over her, and hissed, “Seth is my mortal enemy.”
Seeing the ferocity bloom in his eyes, she believed him. And suddenly feared this was far more complicated than she ever dreamed.
She tried to back away but couldn’t move. Literally. It was as if she were frozen in place, her muscles useless.
Sick fear crawled up her spine. What was going on? How was he doing this to her? What did he want?
“I have vowed to take everything from Seth,” Ray said, the syllables of his words cutting the air like shards of ice. “Everything he owns in the world. Everything he wants to own…”
He slipped the gun from her fingers and tossed it harmlessly onto the bed. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Including you, my dear Josslyn.”
Panic grabbed her heart and squeezed tight. Oh, God. The man was insane!
He grasped her arms and gently eased them down to her sides. At his touch, her body clenched in unwilling reaction. A rush of hot, shivering, erotic sensation poured through her flesh, her breasts tightening involuntarily. No! Another wave of nausea heaved in her stomach along with the unwanted coil of physical arousal. What was wrong with her?